The Fix
by starry19
Summary: "He made to leave, then stopped. Instead, he crossed the room and pulled out the chair next to her. As he sat he could see her trying to rearrange her features. Trying to fool him. He suddenly and profoundly missed the days when she would have confided in him. When she trusted him." An AU tag for Two Ships.


**AN:** This is me, fixing whatever that nonsense was last night. If you need me, I'll probably be screaming somewhere with my fingers stuck in my ears. This is what _should_ have happened.

 **The Fix**

He knocked gently on the doorframe. She glanced up from the giant pile of work she was sorting through. There was enough tonight that she had moved from her desk to the table, papers and folders scattered in random chaos. The chaos was unlike her. Still, it had been a long day.

"Em," he said softly, then sketched her a salute.

She smiled, a little tremulously.

He made to leave, then stopped.

Instead, he crossed the room and pulled out the chair next to her.

As he sat he could see her trying to rearrange her features. Trying to fool him. He suddenly and profoundly missed the days when she would have confided in him. When she trusted him.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly. "And don't you dare tell me you're fine."

He watched her closely. She was wrestling with the urge to unburden herself and the urge to keep a stiff upper lip. Abruptly, she threw her pen on the table.

"My dad was here today," she finally said.

He frowned, trying to recall what she had told him about her family. "I thought you hadn't seen him in decades."

She shook her head. "I hadn't, but then he made contact with me, and we had lunch and I thought…" She took a deep breath. "I thought he meant it. I thought he wanted a relationship with me."

Her eyes were suspiciously bright. Slowly, he reached over and covered one of her hands with his own. She curled her fingers around two of his, tightly.

"He didn't want me," she whispered, voice a little broken. "He wanted the White House."

The story came tumbling out then, her hope and heartbreak evident in every word. A tear slipped down her cheek, and he brushed it away with his thumb. There was another there to take its place.

Ignoring the impulse that would have sent him on a mission to punch Emily's father in the face, he scooted closer, his knees bracketing hers, then pulled her into his arms. She came willingly, arms sliding under his jacket, face turned into his neck.

He hadn't held her in a long time.

It felt as good and as right as it ever had.

He let her cry, not trying to stop the flow of her tears. He'd known she was tightly wound these past few days, but hadn't known why. She needed this, needed to let it out. Emily was a person who kept things very close to her chest, but occasionally she needed to release the pressure or she would burst.

Thoughtlessly, he kissed the damp, salty hair at her temple.

Lyor appeared at his elbow, a bottle of the absolutely awful crap Emily had taken to drinking in recent months held in one hand. Clearly, he knew what had happened today. Aaron felt a twinge of…jealousy that he hadn't had any idea until now.

A minute later, Seth came in the room with enough food for a small army. He looked alarmed, then jealous himself, but it was well hidden.

Jesus.

He was not alright with _that_ particular situation, even as the rational part of his brain reminded him that Emily didn't belong to him. Not anymore. But he was comforted by the fact that Emily hadn't sought out Seth. Of course, she hadn't found _him_ either.

Forcefully ignoring his thoughts, he focused on the feeling of Emily wrapped around him. Felt her small hands clenched in his shirt. Felt her warm breath against his collarbone.

She was in _his_ arms, at least for now. It was a vastly inappropriate time for jealousy, but he was happy when she didn't so much as acknowledge Seth through her tears.

Twenty minutes later, she was leaning against him as they sat side by side on her couch, her hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle of wine.

She was calmer now, but her eyes were bruised.

Abruptly, he turned to her.

"Your dad is a useless idiot," he said. "I know you know that, and I know that doesn't make any of this better or easier."

She offered him a token attempt at a smile.

But his own words were very serious. "I cannot emphasize to you enough how needed you are." He paused, voice softer. "How wanted you are."

His words were true, both in the general sense and as far as they related to him, specifically. He had been burned by her, and burned badly, and had gone out of his way to protect himself from getting his heart crushed any further.

That did not mean that he felt any differently towards her, even on the rare occasions where he had actually tried to get over her.

Her expression softened. "Thank you," she whispered, squeezing his fingers. He brought them to his lips.

Their eyes met, and the connection that had been between them sprang up again, vibrant and living once more.

"Thank you," she said again. "For being here to save me. Again. I guess every so often you're required to stop me from losing my job or my mind."

He smiled. "You'd do the same."

She took a deep breath. "Aaron." He could feel the tension rise in her again. "About…before. When you were still Chief of Staff and I had to investigate-"

"Stop," he told her, firmly. He meant it. "We're well past all of that."

"Can I least apologize?" she asked, half-joking, half-earnest.

He raised an eyebrow. "For doing what the president explicitly asked you to do?"

"No," she said softly. "For wrecking…us."

There was a fraught moment. In the quiet, he felt as though he could hear the course of his life changing. A lot hung on his next words. Carefully, he searched her face. He had known her better than anyone, once. She wasn't trying to hide anything from him now, however.

"Who said we're wrecked?" he replied, just as softly.

Her heart was in her eyes, and he could distinctly recall the last and only time he had kissed her. Right here. In this office.

But her vulnerability tonight was a palpable thing, and he wouldn't take advantage of it. She was so strong, so much of the time, but when she broke…

In the morning, she would be herself again. Composed and efficient and terrifyingly good at her job. And he could wait until then.

So for tonight, he was content with her head on his shoulder, her feet tucked underneath her.

And hour later, he walked her out the door after kissing her forehead, extracting a promise that she would let him know when she made it home.

He didn't sleep.

She was waiting in his office the next morning.

His heart immediately shot into his mouth.

In typical Emily fashion, she did not beat around the bush.

Instead, she stood, looking supremely sure of herself. But he could see the pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat. "Did you mean it?" she asked. "About not being…wrecked."

He took a bracing breath. It did not help. "I meant it."

Her smile was blinding, and he felt his own lips turn up in response. "Good," she told him.

…and then her phone vibrated.

As did his.

Ah, well.

This was his life now.

She was already on her way out the door.

"Emily, wait-" he said, grabbing her arm as she moved to walk past him.

He couldn't help it - he kissed her. Thoroughly. But briefly.

The National Security Advisor and the Chief of Staff couldn't ignore the President's summons indefinitely because they were making out.

Even if they really, really wanted to.

He let her go, smiling to himself as he saw her catch her breath. "See you in the Oval," he said, grinning widely.

Her cheeks were flushed, but she nodded. "Right," she whispered.

The rest of the day was typical - which mean it was wild, stressful, and lives hung in the balance on more than one occasion.

But. At the end of the day…he knew she would be there.

And that made all the difference.


End file.
